Still Seeing the Battlefield
by SherlockIsReal
Summary: Haunted by his best friend's mysterious death, John seeks comfort and guidance in the only other person who knows the truth, Mycroft.    BBC Sherlock- aftermath of Reichenbach Falls.


((So this is going along with BBC's Sherlock. It takes place shortly after the third episode of season two, and more specifically right after he visits his therapist shown in the beginning of episode one. This is just a short one shot, but I have a larger fanfiction that I might attach to the end of this scene. Whether Mycroft knows about Sherlock's survival will depend if I continue it into the larger version. But for now, you decide if Mycroft knows. :P))

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Sherlock related.

When Mycroft Holmes stepped into his dreary office in the Diogenes Club, umbrella and brief case in hand, he was surprised to find a man who's attire was harshly out of place sitting in the chair across from his own. The man's silvery hair was ruffled and he was hunched over with his head in his hands. The once proud solider looked ragged and worn.

"John..." Mycroft said warily.

John Watson jerked his head up upon hearing his name, snapped from his nightmarish daydreams. It was the same whether awake or asleep. The image of Sherlock falling was forever seared into his mind and gave him no peace. He rubbed his eyes tiredly as Mycroft set down his things by his chair.

"I'm sorry for barging in on you like this," he apologized as Mycroft gave him a sympathetic look and lowered himself into his leather chair. "It's just..." He lifted his eyes and peered at Mycroft with an unfathomable expression. He opened his mouth and shut it again as if the words were stuck.

Mycroft said nothing. There was nothing he could say to this man. Listening would just have to suffice.

John cleared his throat, shut his eyes for a moment, exhaled shakily and then tapped the arm of his chair. "You're a genius, aren't you?"

His eyebrows climbed making his forehead crumble.

"When we... Sherlock and I... when we went to Baskerville, your name opened doors. No amount of foolery could get you into a top secret military base. That couldn't be faked," John said gripping the arm of his chair. "You _are_ the British government."

The statement was forceful as if he were daring an invisible listener to object.

"John, what is it exactly that you're trying to say?" Mycroft asked him pointedly.

John smiled to himself slightly and his eyes found a spot in the fire. "Sherlock changed my life. I was all alone before. No one understood me. All everyone saw was poor old Doctor Watson, injured in Afghanistan. The world took pity on me when I didn't want it. After a while, without even realizing, I accepted it. I felt like an old man both mentally and physically. But then Sherlock... Sherlock saw the real me. He pushed me and expected me to be the man I am, and expected nothing less. An hour before I was walking with a cane and the next I was jumping rooftops chasing down a taxi cab." He chuckled at the memory.

Mycroft smiled pitifully as he watched John's struggle to keep his face like stone.

"You told me once that 'when I walk with Sherlock Holmes I see the battlefield.' _Well he's gone and I'm still seeing the battlefield_."

Mycroft watched John's eyes as they danced with the light of the fire, tears breaking from his lashes.

"What am I supposed to do now?" John asked him. There was a fierce plea in his eyes as they darted back to Mycroft's face. "I didn't belong among normal people before. I found my perfect niche in 221B Baker Street with the world's only Consulting Detective. Now he's gone. My home is gone. What am I supposed to do?"

This is why Mycroft never ventured to explore the part of the human brain that controlled emotions. Such devastation from one man's death... How many people had Mycroft seen depart this world through out his career in all of the jars he had his fingers in? For one person's departing, a hundred mourn. He remembered the night that his little brother had asked him if he ever wondered if there was something wrong with the two of them. In situations like this... he was glad of his divorce of feelings.

"That is for you to discover John. In time, these feelings will pass, just like life. But why me?" Mycroft asked him curiously. "You know that I am as emotionally unattached as he was. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson or Detective Inspector Lestrade would be a better comfort to you right now-"

"Because when I sit with you it reminds me that it was _real_. I don't know why he did what he did or why he said those things... But I don't believe any of it. I knew the real him. I knew how his mind worked. I'd seen him bounce off the walls when he didn't have a case. Saw the frustration in his eyes when no one could understand what he saw in one look, and the satisfaction when someone did do something clever. He truly wanted the world to think. But the whole world thinks he's a fake now. Everywhere you turn there are bloody newspapers and magazines and television reports," he snarled, "and I feel like I'm the only one who knows the truth. It makes me question my own sanity sometimes... But then there is you. You're his brother. You're a real person sitting there looking me square in the eyes. You've spoken to him. Touched him. You know as well as I do... it was real. _He_ was real."

The elder Holmes stood from his seat and strode across the room to a bookshelf. He ran his long slender fingers along the spines until they rested on a tiny book which he pulled out. After blowing off the dust he handed it to him silently. John examined the old cover for a moment and opened it gently. It was a family photo album with pictures of the two brothers as children. There wasn't that many photos but John fingered through them as if they were made of gold. He flipped through the pages, staring at the younger Sherlock. Even as a child his crystalline eyes were sharp and well beyond their years. He let out a half-sob half-chuckle as he found one of his best friend dressed as a pirate.

"He _was_ real John. Don't stop believing in him."


End file.
